


proof of love

by kinneyb



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, Nontraditional Wedding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-24
Updated: 2020-08-24
Packaged: 2021-03-06 14:42:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,219
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26090587
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kinneyb/pseuds/kinneyb
Summary: “Never thought I’d live to see the day you were moping over wedding vows,” Yennefer said finally, and Geralt looked up.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 10
Kudos: 259





	proof of love

**Author's Note:**

> written for one of my supporters - hope you all enjoy!! <3
> 
> twitter: queermight / tumblr: korrmin

Yennefer stood in his doorway, looking like _she_ was the bride-to-be, beautiful even in her nightgown with a bare face. Geralt ignored her at first, pointedly staring at the blank page in front of him. The ink had dried on his pen long ago. He had hoped if he just sat here long enough that he would eventually be able to find the words.

“Never thought I’d live to see the day you were moping over _wedding_ vows,” she said finally, and he looked up.

He was glad for her presence, even if she had been dreadful since the beginning. “How is he?” he asked, ignoring the fact this wasn’t a _wedding_. Not in the traditional sense, at least, or even legal, but more like a ceremony.

Maybe most people wouldn’t know they were married, or respect it, but the people that mattered were here and _they_ would, like Yennefer. And Cirilla, who had grown quite a bit over the years. Triss.

Geralt had wanted to invite Lambert and Eskel, but didn’t know how. He knew they would respect it, later, when he did see them again.

Yennefer rolled her eyes, entering his room. The door swung shut behind her. The taste of her magic lingered, sharp in the air. She sat on his bed, and he turned his chair toward her, waiting. He hadn’t seen Jaskier in five days despite just being a few rooms away and his skin itched with the desire to see him, _touch_ him.

But Jaskier had been very adamant about doing this the _proper_ way. He had asked Geralt a lot of questions about Witchers, and if they had weddings. And if not, if they had something _like_ weddings. They did, of course, but it was outdated and Geralt had told him that with an amused smile. Jaskier hadn’t cared, the stubborn little thing.

So they were doing it — A week separated, and then the ceremony. Jaskier had agreed on skipping the _other_ part of it; the branding.

(“Do Witchers _like_ pain?” he asked in disbelief, and Geralt had laughed with his face buried in his hair.)

They were supposed to be using this time to prepare for the ceremony, and yet so far Geralt hadn’t been able to write a single word. He _wanted_ to, for once, but simply _couldn’t_.

No words seemed enough.

“He’s written enough words for the both of you,” she said with a hint of fondness, and exasperation. “But he seems displeased with most of them, as his trash is full.”

Geralt looked away, hiding a smile. “Sounds like him.”

“Do you want help?” she asked after a long pause, standing back up and joining his side. Geralt eyed her. Yennefer was talented in many ways, but...

“I do not think this suits you,” he said, and she shrugged. But that wasn’t all. Geralt glanced down at the parchment, tracing the rough edge with his fingertips. He had never been good with words, and Jaskier knew that, but he wanted this to be _different_. He wanted to surprise him. Wanted to see the way his eyes lit up when he read his vows. Most of all, he wanted to prove to Jaskier that he was making the right choice. “I think these words need to be mine,” he said. “Only mine.”

Yennefer was silent for a moment. He looked over at her, finally, curious. She was watching him with an odd expression. “You really do love him,” she said. It wasn’t a question, and he knew she already had her answer. She shook her head with a small laugh. “I thought you loved me, back then, but now I know that wasn’t — ” She stopped, looking thoughtful. “What you feel for him is different,” she settled on, and he wanted to argue, because he did love her, but she was right: the love he had felt for her, back then, had been different.

No less valid, he liked to think, but different. He looked away again.

“I never want to lose him, Yen,” he said, a quiet confession that they both knew was inevitable. Love — unfortunately — could not outweigh the inevitability of death, especially for a human. “For a while, that held me back.”

The idea of having him just to lose him had been too much, and yet finally he had faced his fears. He still questioned if the eventual pain would be worth it.

“But not now,” she said softly, as if reading his thoughts. Knowing her, she might have been.

Geralt nodded. “I will cherish the time I have,” he said, and she put a hand on his shoulder.

“You need to stop overthinking it,” she said with a finality and certainty that was hard to argue. She cleared her throat, squeezing his shoulder once before pulling away and walking to the door. She paused at it. “Just write how you feel,” she continued with a nod, looking out of place but genuine. “Don’t force it.”

*

Geralt decided she was right, which was — annoying, but not unexpected; she was often right. He closed the jar of ink and stood up, walking out of the cottage. Yennefer had acquired it for them, and he had never bothered to ask the details. He knew she had probably worked her magic — literally, and maybe even figuratively — to get it.

He found Roach behind the cottage, tied up and waiting for him. Her tail whipped the air as he approached, the knot in his stomach uncurling just a little.

“Want to go for a ride?” he asked.

He rode her out of town and stopped only once they were deep in the woods, surrounded by the familiarity of nature. When he jumped off, he quickly set to work, building a fire and sitting down. He didn’t even bother tying her up, trusting her to stay.

“I kind of always thought it’d just be you and me,” he said. “Or at least _some_ variation of you,” he added with a grimace. Roach snorted, and he sighed. “But then again I never expected to feel this way about…” _Anyone_.

Nevertheless the bard he had met and subsequently decided to ditch. He thought back to the mountain. That seemed like a lifetime ago, now, but the guilt was still fresh, even after everything. After he had searched for Jaskier and begged for his forgiveness in a way he had never begged before. After Jaskier had cupped his face between his hands and said, “ _Ever_ do that again and I will fucking kill you. I mean it,” before kissing him, hard.

Geralt had believed him, and still did, but that was hardly why he had stayed for so long.

He had stayed because he _loved_ him, because Jaskier made him want to be a better person, because he loved his voice and the silky-softness of his hair, and —

“Fuck,” he said. “I am a walking cliche.”

Roach snorted loudly, and he was just grateful Yennefer was nowhere to be found.

*

When he returned, Jaskier was waiting for him. He startled at the sight of him after so long; he looked lovely, even with his face twisted in an angry expression.

“You left without saying anything!” he exploded. “Did you stop to think we might be _worried?_ ”

Geralt smiled slightly. “I needed some air,” he said truthfully, and Jaskier glared at him for just a second longer before stepping forward and cupping his face. Geralt waited for the soft press of his mouth, but he didn’t kiss him, just stroked under his eyes with his thumbs, rough and calloused over from decades of playing.

“Tomorrow,” he said. “I can’t wait any longer.”

Geralt blinked. “I haven’t finished my vows,” he blurted.

Jaskier smiled, a soft curl of his mouth that made Geralt want to gather him in his arms and never let go. _Fuck_ , he was fucked. “I wasn’t expecting you to,” he admitted. He didn’t sound upset, or disappointed, just fond. “I don’t need words, Geralt,” he continued before he could say anything. “I just want you, and I have that.”

He leaned in, eyes crinkling around the corners.

“Right?” he asked with a hint of amusement.

And — well, the answer was obvious, wasn’t it? Had been for a while. “Of course,” he replied gruffly, instantly, meaning it. He would always have him.

Jaskier smiled, bright and beautiful and happy, before finally kissing him.

*

Geralt was the first up, and not by accident. He slipped out of bed, watching Jaskier for a moment. He looked most beautiful when he was asleep, he thought, relaxed and peaceful, lips parting with each soft breathe.

The only downfall was that he couldn’t hear his voice when he was asleep.

Turning away, he walked over to his desk and prepared things, pulling the slip of parchment out of the desk and dipping the quill. He glanced over toward the bed; Jaskier was still asleep. Satisfied, he turned back and touched the tip of the quill to the page.

Nodding to himself, he began to write.

*

Magic was an amazing thing, he thought, as he entered the room with Yennefer on his arm. She — along with Triss — had handled the decorations; the center of the cottage had been magically enlarged, and flowers — white, and yellow — were hanging from the doorway, the closest thing they’d had to an arch.

There was no audience. Just Cirilla, who stood off to the side in a fluffy dress he had never seen her in before. The work of Yennefer, no doubt.

She had a bright smile on her face, and — he knew, despite not being able to see them yet — the rings. He hadn’t seen them yet, or even Jaskier, he knew. Yennefer had grinned when she said she would take care of the rings and frankly he had been a little too intimidated to fight her on it.

Yennefer tugged on his arm and he tore his eyes away from the girl. “Ahead,” she hissed in his ear, and he listened, eyes flickering to the doorway. Jaskier had appeared with Triss on his arm. She looked beautiful, like usual, but he was sad to say Jaskier outshone her. He was dressed in — Geralt felt a sudden lump form in his throat — a familiar red doublet and a matching pair of trousers.

He was hit with a sudden memory of Jaskier on the mountain. A rewrite of history, replacing old ( _painful_ ) memories with newer, better ones. What a Jaskier thing to do.

Geralt had worn his best clothes, which — wasn’t saying much, but at least it wasn’t his usual leather. Yennefer had suggested buying new clothes but somehow he knew that wasn’t what Jaskier would’ve wanted. He wanted _him_ , not some dressed up version of him.

Once they were at the doorway, Yennefer unhooked their arms and stepped off to the side. She nodded at Jaskier, and he nodded back, eyes bright.

Triss stood in front of them, her curls pulled back with a clip. She was far from a real priest, but she would have to do. “Are you ready?” she asked both of them.

Geralt glanced at Jaskier. He was beautiful, undoubtedly, any person could see that, but he also knew things others did not. Could not, unless they had spent decades with him. Like how he flopped around in his sleep like a fish, or hated sour things, or loved cats.

(That last one had been a lesson to learn. Thankfully Geralt had healed from the scars from when Jaskier had unexpectedly returned with a cat once while they were traveling, a cat that had quickly attacked him. After, Jaskier had apologized. “I love cats,” he had said with a small grin, “but I suppose I love you more.”)

He loved him, the good and the bad.

“Yes,” he said finally, and Jaskier grabbed one of his hands, squeezing.

That was all the confirmation she needed; she began to recite her part. Geralt’s mouth felt impossibly dry as he was asked if he had anything to say. Jaskier stroked his thumb across the back of his hand, opening his mouth to speak over him, but Geralt beat him to it, pulling the folded up piece of parchment out of his pocket:

“I do,” he said, and Jaskier blinked, looking surprised but — pleasantly so, thankfully.

He caught Yennefer’s eyes over Jaskier’s shoulder, steady and yet uncharacteristically soft. Geralt nodded, and she nodded back her silent support. Looking down, he released Jaskier’s hand to unfold the paper.

“Geralt,” he heard. “You don’t have to — ”

He looked up. “I know,” he interrupted, swallowing. He knew Jaskier wouldn’t mind, and that he would never hold it against him, but. “It isn’t — much, but I want to.”

Jaskier nodded, eyes full of adoration. Geralt wondered if he truly deserved it. Glancing back down, he swallowed again and began from the first line, the easiest line he had written, full of truth: “I love you, Jaskier.”

He felt Jaskier’s hand on his arm. His touch was like fire, even through the many layers between them.

“In a way I never thought I could love,” he continued, thinking back to what Yennefer had said: _What you feel for him is different._ “I was afraid to have this,” he said, raw and honest and painful. “I didn’t think I deserved it. More accurately, I didn’t think _you_ did. I wanted you to have better than this. Than — me.” He paused, taking a moment.

Jaskier didn’t interrupt despite wanting to, no doubt, just squeezed his arm. He thought back, again, to the mountain. Back then, he had truly thought he was doing Jaskier a _favor_ by pushing him away. He had realized his mistake, quickly, when he saw Jaskier again and he’d looked like _death_ , bags under his eyes, frown lines around his mouth that hadn’t been there before.

“I know our lives are destined to be different,” he said, looking up. “Because you are human, and I’m not, but I don’t care. I want you to be with me every step of the way. Until—” He didn’t have to look at the paper to remember the next part, but now, looking at him, he couldn’t say the words, couldn’t talk about his eventual death without feeling like his heart was being crushed. He skipped over it smoothly, smiling a little. “Once I told you something, cruel and untrue.”

Jaskier waited, but a twitch of his lips and Geralt knew he was thinking of the same thing.

“I said my life would be better without you in it,” he continued, “but that wasn’t true, and never will be. If this forsaken world could give me one blessing, it would be to always have you. For better or worse.” Geralt folded the paper back up, never breaking eye contact. “I am lucky to have met you, and I selfishly hope you never realize you deserve better.”

Jaskier waited to make sure he was finished before smoothly pulling his own vows out and subsequently ripping the pages. Geralt blinked, likely looking like an idiot. Jaskier grinned toothily. “You stole the show, bastard,” he said before surging forward and kissing him.

In the end, Geralt said the most and Jaskier the least, so unlike most days.

After they were done kissing, a good solid three or four minutes later, their lips swollen and red, Cirilla pointedly stepped forward and extended her hands, palm up, cheeks slightly flushed. He would’ve felt bad under any other circumstances, but this _was_ their day. Geralt’s eyes flickered to the rings, both silver.

“Not bad,” Jaskier remarked to Yennefer as he took the larger of the two rings, obviously sized for Geralt.

Geralt had to agree; they were simple, just silver bands, safe. He had underestimated Yennefer. Yennefer smiled, just the edge of too-bright, as he took the other ring, a little smaller. Jaskier was about his height, but he was slimmer in every sense of the word, including his fingers, long and bone-thin despite his healthy weight.

“Well, since you already kissed,” Triss said with a hint of amusement, “might as well go ahead.”

Geralt nodded curtly and watched, an odd ache in his chest, as Jaskier extended his hand with a small smile. He didn’t deserve this, but he was too selfish to do the right thing. He gently held Jaskier’s wrist with one hand as he slid the ring on. Jaskier blinked, shivering almost violently, and Geralt squeezed his wrist.

“Are you okay?” he asked. Jaskier just shook his head and grabbed his hand, shoving his ring on.

Geralt felt it as soon as the ring was settled at the base of his finger; an overwhelming surge of emotions, and not just his own. He snapped his head to the side; Yennefer smiled sweetly.

“What?” she asked. “I thought it would be, hmm, _romantic_.”

Geralt should’ve expected as much. “Explain,” he said, and she sighed, rolling her eyes.

“You feel his emotions, vice versa,” she said, flapping her hand in the air. “Pretty simple, actually. I mean, you both live a dangerous life, you said as much yourself,” she continued, glancing at Jaskier. “This way, you will always know if the other is safe.”

Geralt swallowed thickly. “It’s—a lot,” he said, painfully honest for him, and her eyes softened a little.

“It will lessen,” she said. “The magic subsides when the person’s emotions are low; you can only feel each other right now because of the— _emotional_ high.” She grimaced, but he knew it was all for show.

He glanced back at Jaskier, silent and questioning. Jaskier smiled slightly, looking almost guilty. “Not a bad idea,” he admitted, biting his bottom lip. “I do worry. When you leave.”

That was all he needed to hear. He leaned forward and kissed him again, soft and quick. “Okay,” he said. He agreed, actually, that it wasn’t a bad idea: now he would always know Jaskier was safe, even if they were parted.

“Enough of this,” Yennefer announced loftily. “Who wants cake?” At Jaskier’s suspicious look, she smiled sweetly. “ _Not_ prepared by me, obviously.”

*

Much later, they were in bed with Jaskier’s head on his chest. Jaskier had been holding his hand all day and now was no exception. Geralt thought it was sickeningly sweet. He spun his ring back and forth idly. “Destiny,” Jaskier said suddenly.

He _hmm_ ed, adjusting to get more comfortable. From this new angle, he could better see Jaskier’s face.

“You still think it’s a load of crap?” Jaskier asked.

Geralt thought of Cirilla, Yennefer. “No,” he admitted, and Jaskier looked up at him with mild surprise. Geralt smiled, small and sincere. “But I think choice is stronger,” he said, turning his hand and letting their fingers slot together, a perfect fit. “And that is all we’ve ever had. No outside forces made us meet or stay together.”

Jaskier grinned slowly. “You are being _awfully_ romantic today,” he said. “Did Yen slip you something?”

“If she did, I most certainly would not be aware of it,” he pointed out, and Jaskier laughed lightly, nosing under his jaw.

Jaskier could feel it; the ring was warming by the second until it was nearly too-hot, but in a good way, somehow, like it was the warmth of their love. Proof of their love.


End file.
